Anyone But You
by dracofiend
Summary: After infidelity, Draco makes good on his promises. HD. Sequel to A Better One.


Harry sat in bed, propped up against a stack of thick fluffy pillows, the coverlet drawn to his hips, idly perusing his latest issue of Quidditch Monthly. He stretched an arm behind his head and scratched, gingerly. Just about everything was still sore after his umpteenth brush with death--and yesterday's romp with Draco hadn't been intended to work out all the kinks. He let the magazine fall to his lap and leaned back, craning his neck. Yesterday had been--settling. He'd silenced the questions at last, and had given Draco a free hand. A free heart. 

Draco had disagreed. Harry hadn't known, at that moment, what Draco would do next. Then the blond had kissed him over and over, so he figured it was still okay. When they'd woken up several hours later, it was dark out, and Draco was scintillating. They'd ordered in a nice dinner, during which Draco had delighted to no end. It wasn't just his natural tendency to entertain, or to sweep his audience from its feet--there was a determination behind each gesture, almost a discrepancy, too unobtrusive to disrupt his amusing words. But it had hovered, like the faint halo thrown by his silvery head when he leaned, just so, across the table to touch Harry's hand.

Harry was still debating whether he'd imagined it when Draco glided in, bearing a steaming tray.

"I'm back, gorgeous. Miss me?" Draco flashed him a sunny smile and set the tray down carefully over Harry's lap, then slid up next to him, coiling his legs beneath his body.

"Yeah," Harry smiled back. "You brought me breakfast!" His face was lit with obvious pleasure at this unexpected treat. Draco liked having house-elfs, and he liked sleeping in.

"Ten points to Gryffindor for remarkable insight despite near-mortal injury," Draco purred, running a hand through his lover's messy hair and kissing him lightly on the mouth.

Harry picked up the fork and inhaled the delicious aromas of sausage and bacon and mushrooms and toast, and more.

"You got them to make what I want," he said with a happy grin as he looked back at Draco. Harry wasn't sure if it was house-elfs in general, or just the Malfoy ones, who were stubborn beyond belief in matters of culinary rigor. Even breakfasts had to be posh.

Draco sniffed with an air of mock affrontery. "I slaved away for hours over several hot stoves, Harry! Hours! Now eat, you voracious thing." He angled his head away and pouted until Harry laughed and kissed those jutting lips.

After a few rapid and enormous bites--it really was good--Harry stopped to compliment the chef. Draco was still perched beside him on the rumpled bed, talking animatedly about their plans for the next few days.

"This is fantastic, love." Harry's smile broadened and a mischievous gleam brightened his eyes. "Who would've imagined a Malfoy cooking and serving me breakfast in bed, on the family silver?" He took another gigantic bite.

Draco narrowed his eyes and leaned in. "Quiet, Harry. The servants will hear. I don't want this getting around." He pressed his mouth against Harry's, which parted easily and tasted of bacon.

"I don't do this for anyone but you," he murmured with a last lick at the smoky lips.

Harry's heart jumped as the words trickled down his spine, and everything tasted better after that.

ooooooooooo

Draco watched Harry devour his breakfast with a hunger born of three days at St. Mungo's mercy, and something else. He shook his head with a smile when Harry offered him a bite. His appetite--always pale in comparison to Harry's--had diminished to nearly nothing.

In the days Harry was gone, Draco grew acclimated to burning and writhing, of a sort Voldemort himself could never inflict. Panic turned to despair as life without Harry fanned out before him, each layer blacker than the last. He couldn't understand why Harry hadn't already left, but it was the thin pane preventing complete certainty that Harry would return from this assignment, only to leave him. That had shattered the day he'd been denied admittance to Harry's bedside at St. Mungo's, and he'd Flooed home in utter, blinding pain, knowing his former lover had come to his senses and wouldn't be returning at all. His only solace was learning that Harry was a safe distance from death's door, contrary to the Daily Prophet's report. He loved Harry, loved him and hurt him and would do anything to keep him, though he couldn't think of a single thing to do.

Then he'd come home to find Harry, and he'd been so unprepared to have that final, damning exchange that he'd tried to get away. But his former lover had blocked that path by offering everything, asking nothing--and became his lover once again. Draco suffered until his innards twitched, his new awareness raking.

Draco looked into Harry's concerned eyes. "Have some, Draco. You need it." The Auror raised a forkful of eggs.

He'd never apologized to Harry, or begged forgiveness, though every instinct wailed for it. There's nothing to be sorry for, nothing to forgive, Harry would say. The quiet green eyes told him. Revealing his agony, terrible and tempting though it was, would earn Draco Harry's protection, not his faith. Harry thought it unnecessary. He couldn't tell Harry the truth--not while Harry believed it was irrelevant, that just a portion would do. Draco knew it was his turn to keep silence. He would nurse Harry's wounds instead of flaunting his own--he'd decided it last night.

"Come on, love," Harry cajoled. "Your robes won't look as nice hanging off a half-starved body." He waggled the fork, and the eggs teetered precariously.

"Well, if you put it that way," Draco frowned. He opened his mouth and accepted the eggs. It felt like having an extra tongue--not Harry's--in his mouth, and his stomach shrank back as he swallowed.

"See, I knew you were hungry. Isn't it so good?" Harry smiled and shoveled another pile of eggs into his own mouth. He forked up a second huge bite for Draco.

"You think everything's good," Draco replied, but he leaned forward and ate, looking tenderly into Harry's approving face.

ooooooooooo

Three more days, and Harry was better than he'd ever felt before. Draco was glorious in his devotion, laughing and smirking and crooning with every toss of his silken hair. One afternoon, Harry had come out of the shower to be greeted by a flurry of Draco's trademark paper cranes, brilliantly hued. They rustled softly as they fluttered in the air, graceful and elegant as their maker, hovering in an eager flock, heads turned to Harry's surprised face. Then one began to dance away from the rest, flickering its dainty paper wings toward Harry. The delicate green crane paused before his damp chest, dipped its crisp head, and spread back its wings in an unmistakable bow before unfurling with a crinkle.

Harry, who had cupped his hands, ready to scoop it out of the air, let the creased paper float into his palms. Familiar script shone silver on green. _I love you, beautiful._ Harry smiled down at the lettering, raising his head when a flash of blue caught his eye.

Another crane was weaving its way toward Harry--this one looped upside down and rightside up in lazy circles before flaring out and drifting down into Harry's still-open hands. _My heart flip-flops for you. Endlessly._ Harry opened his mouth in a grin and watched with anticipation as the next folded crane rustled to him. It broke into a funny little dance, bobbing enthusiastically to one side, then the other. Harry laughed aloud, and it blossomed open, petaling into his palms. _Your laugh is addictive._

One by one, the colorful cranes fluttered and flapped over to Harry, some twirling serenely, some cartwheeling playfully. Each bore a different message.

_Only the truly great can leave off combing their hair, and astound. You're astounding._

_You have sexy hips._

_Gryffindor really is the best house._

_Merlin, but you're a hot fuck._

Harry was too captivated to notice the faint chill creeping over his drying skin by the time the last crane flitted over. It performed no dance, but hung, as if suspended on a string. Then it came undone, and when Harry glanced down at the silver lettering, so did he.

_I was all yours. I need to be--again. Let me?_

Harry's breath caught in his throat and he didn't have time to look up before Draco stood in front of him and was draping a fluffy bathrobe around his shoulders. He was close enough to kiss.

"Please?" It was an urgent sound.

Harry wondered why Draco even bothered to ask when he had to have known the answer. He tilted his lips to sigh agreement into his beloved's mouth.

ooooooooooo

The paper cranes had been followed by other gestures that marveled and melted Harry anew. His favorite Slytherin had never been romantic in terms of grand acts, preferring to let pure force of feeling carry itself, with liberal assistance from irrepressible charisma. Now Draco's love shone through in more than just his habitual caresses and admiring glances--he was lavishing Harry in true Malfoy style, yet not. No glint of galleons added to the bright shine here. There was only Draco, and his persistent words. Not for anyone but you, Draco said.

Harry pulled open the top drawer to Draco's desk, in search of the brightly colored folding papers he used for his cranes. He was giddy with the idea of impressing the blond with his own animal parade, though he hadn't a clue how to make one. Harry frowned down at the drawer--no, none there. He pulled open a few more, peering inside, lifting various odds and ends before carefully replacing them. Draco didn't like his things touched, not out of possessiveness, but because it disrupted his organization. Harry was about to shut the last drawer closed when he realized what he'd just set back into place.

A cell phone. Draco's cell phone.

Fingers suddenly cold, Harry picked it up again and ran his thumb over the sleek metallic surface. He'd never owned one, but he'd used them before, and he flipped it open, mind numb.

The blood coursed back through his veins with a vengeance as the phone chimed to life and a startingly clear photo of Draco, cheek to cheek with a vaguely familiar square-jawed man, flashed onto the display. They were smiling winningly out at Harry, who could only clutch the phone and heave shallow breaths, dizzy.

"Harry, are you ready to--" Draco stopped short as he saw Harry crouched on one knee, the drawer still pulled out, clenching the slip of silver. The bluish glow of the display was flecked against his lenses, and his green eyes stared, ready to break.

"Harry," Draco said, strangled, and whisked across the room to lower his fair head to the dark one. "I meant to destroy that." Ever so gently, he extricated the phone from Harry's pale fingers, stroking his other hand tenderly over the untidy hair. "I'm--I'm sorry, love--I just shut it off and was never going to turn it on again after--"

Suddenly, the phone went off, and a discordant tinny melody jangled the room. Draco nearly dropped it. He snapped it shut, and silence was restored.

It lengthened, suffocating.

"You--have a lot of missed calls," Harry said lowly, chest aching. He reached over, compelled by some inexplicable force to learn more about this other man, and tugged at the phone. Draco's grip tightened, then relaxed, and he let go. Harry flipped it open once more, eyes riveted to the image there. Draco's face was alight and carefree. Harry swallowed with difficulty as he studied the other man's strong, handsome features. His brown eyes were turned sideways, even as he grinned for the camera, angled toward the blond, who didn't seem to notice. Harry had the sickening feeling that if this were a wizard photograph, the auburn-haired man would be firmly kissing Draco's happy mouth.

The phone sounded again, and the tiny screen flashed _Andrew_. A new image of Draco's other lover displaced the photo of the two of them. Harry fumbled the phone, then reflexively hit the green button to answer the call.

A man's voice, made reedy by technology, rose from Harry's shocked hand.

"Darien! Darien. Thank god you've picked up--where are you? I've been so fucking worried--Darien?"

Harry gazed dumbly down, unable to do anything but listen to that anxious voice and the throbbing in his brain.

Draco snatched the phone from Harry's hand and pressed it to his ear. "I told you I can't see you anymore." No longer accustomed to Draco's particular brand of curtness, Harry flinched.

The phone muttered, and Harry could just make out the words by straining past the pounding in his head.

"...called the police to search for you! It's like you've vanished from the face of the earth! I know what you said about being with someone else, but I don't believe it. You can't just disappear and barely explain and refuse to answer my calls--what is it? Are you in trouble?"

"No." Draco's voice was hard, and through his haze, Harry remembered hating just that tone, years ago. "I am in perfect health. Everything is fine. I believe I made it clear when we last spoke. I won't be seeing you again. Withdraw your request from the police."

The phone crackled and Draco made to click it shut again, but Harry shot out a hand to stop him, keeping his eyes averted.

It could've been him. It could've been Harry at the other end of Draco's spearing words, and for some reason, this made it absolutely necessary to hear what the man on the phone was about to say.

"Tell me what the fuck is going on!" The bodiless voice was easier to understand now that the phone was no longer against Draco's ear. "I thought we were--things were going so well." The pleading noise could have come straight from Harry's own thoughts. "Don't run away because you're afraid this could be real, because you're afraid to commit. I won't hurt you, Darien, I love--"

Draco rammed the phone back to his ear. "Commitment is precisely the reason I left."

Harry noticed the oppressive steel had leached from Draco's voice, though he still spoke in brisk, clipped tones. "I'm sorry I failed to explain the nature of my pre-existing obligations--I should've done it the very first day." His voice softened just a shade more, but Harry caught it, and felt his heart drop.

"I can't mend anything for you, Andrew. I told you before--I'm sorry. We won't be speaking again." Draco hesitated, and Harry knew there'd been no hesitation last time, when no one had been there to eavesdrop. Harry rose and staggered blindly from the room. He found himself in the bedroom and tumbled onto it, curling into his old position facing the wall. It hadn't been blessed with Harry's blank stare for several days now.

A moment later he felt the mattress give as a familiar weight eased against him.

"Harry." Draco cradled Harry tenderly. "Tell me." He pressed his cheek to the back of Harry's neck and kissed the dark tendril-tips.

Harry's voice was remote. "He loves you."

Draco breathed gently, sending warm wafts along Harry's exposed neck and tremors down his back. "Maybe."

"You love him." Harry said. "And me." He thought of the way those grey eyes looked at him, and were looking at him now, though he wasn't able to see them. The vision of Draco's adoring expression--just for him--was intoxicating, so he let it swarm unchecked. Then he was terrified.

It wasn't enough, after all. In that instant when Draco had paused, refraining from expressing some sentiment to his other lover in Harry's presence, he'd understood. Draco had been right. Draco didn't believe Harry could make it enough, though, when it had to be. He began working out what to say to convince them both.

"You're wrong." Slender fingers touched Harry's upturned cheek, and Draco vanished Harry's newest burden. "I've never loved anyone but you."

Harry lay unmoving, and thought about the one or two surreptitious glances, heavy with a new shade of grey. He thought about cranes and lullabies and Draco's new favorite words.

Gradually, each part of his body began to recognize what Draco told him. His lungs were opening, and he exhaled without wanting to gasp. The strain in his elbows was fading, along with the cramp in his toes. The tension in his abdomen dwindled, and that deep cranial pounding melted into a slow, even pulse.

"He called you Darien," Harry said finally. The beginnings of belief steadied his voice.

Draco's fingers were tracing Harry's chest now. "Yes. Couldn't give my real one--I'm fairly certain Muggles have yet to appreciate names of true distinction."

"I have a normal name," Harry replied after a moment. He luxuriated in his cloak of Draco.

"Mmm, yes. But unlike most Muggle names, yours reflects a rustic goodness."

"Rustic..." Harry promptly rolled around to face the blond. "Right, just because my name isn't some exotic Franco-Latin combination doesn't m--"

"Make it any less arousing when cried out in throes of passion?" Draco smirked seductively. "Quite right, love." He arched his torso up to Harry's.

"Harry." he whispered, his gaze entrancing.

"Harrrrryyy." A heavy breath, oozing sin from every curl of tongue.

"Haaarryy." Mouthed almost silently, and his teeth gleamed sharp.

Draco had his palm against Harry's neck all at once and was perfectly, tightly aligned to his body, from lips to thighs.

"Potter." Expelled through a barely parted mouth, it was the soft pop of a ripe berry, squeezed.

Harry's head whirled and everywhere tingled as he threw himself over Draco. "Should I make you scream it out loud then?" he murmured thickly into Draco's kiss. Draco merely slid his hand to the clasp of Harry's robe and began unfastening.

When he cried it out at last, Harry knew no other could cross Draco's lips with love like that.

ooooooooooo

Harry smiled and nodded, pretending to listen attentively to the stocky, self-important Ministry official's blathering. He angled himself so that each time he lowered his head for a sip from his glass, he could flick his eyes to the slender blond charming his way across the floor.

As he watched Draco weave through the crowd, a genuine smile broke over his face. The platinum head paused every few paces, accosted by congratulatory handshakes and inquisitive acquaintances. He moved smoothly through this obstacle course in social etiquette, and didn't trip a single hurdle even when he finally caught Harry's sparkling eyes.

"Harry," he said, laying a hand on the dark-haired wizard's shoulder. "Mr. Blunderbin. A pleasure to see you." Draco shook the Ministry man's hand.

"Likewise, likewise," the thick-set man returned, a bit gruffly. "Thrilled for Harry, no doubt, eh? Quite a feat, this promotion--I was just telling him he's well on his way to becoming one of the greatest Aurors we've ever had." His voice turned jovial once more when he looked from Draco to Harry.

Draco inclined his head. "Indeed. We're overjoyed--and I hardly think you exaggerate the matter. His dedication is unrivalled--and he's fully dedicated to the Ministry."

The stocky man's vaguely disapproving expression receded, and he didn't notice the way Draco squeezed Harry's shoulder warmly. The lovers exchanged a glance, and Harry couldn't restrain a blissful smile.

"Good, good," the superfluous voice rumbled. "We at the Ministry pride ourselves on--" He caught Harry's lovestruck expression, then Draco's sidelong smile, and faltered. "--that is, on cultivating a loyalty to our causes for the good of the wizarding world..." He trailed off as it became apparent even to him that the two were attending only to each other.

Suddenly an "Oi!" sounded behind him, and all three men swiveled to look.

Flame-red hair erupted from the throng, and Ron Weasley, followed closely by Hermione Granger, Pansy Parkinson, and Blaise Zabini, jostled his way to Harry's side. They formed a little ring, pushing out the Ministry wizard with genial hellos, and he escaped, mumbling a relieved, "Yes, well, best be off...fresh hors d'oeuvres out..."

"Harry!" Ron exclaimed, clapping a hand on his free shoulder. "Well done mate! Bloody fantastic!"

"Not that anyone's surprised," Hermione put in, grinning widely. "You train harder than any of us, and we all know it's not easy, even if you are who you are."

Harry grinned back. "Thanks, guys. We're really excited about it too." He slipped his arm around Draco's waist, and the blond kissed his cheek.

"Ever the lovebirds, I see," Pansy smirked affectionately.

Draco raised a brow as he slid a hand from Harry's shoulder to his opposite hip. "Look who's talking." Blaise had his arms locked around Pansy and his chin resting against her head.

She smiled back, unapologetic. "I still remember when you two _hated_ each other." She looked up at Blaise, then over at Hermione and Ron. "Don't you all remember that time in fifth year, Snape partnered them for some terribly complex potion? Draco was convinced Harry would ruin it, and started making all sorts of choice comments about Harry's potion-making abilities, and Harry in general."

Pansy laughed, and the others smiled knowingly. "You could just see Harry trying so hard to be good and not get points docked from Gryffindor for probably the eighth class running--but finally he slammed down his hand and shouted, in high dramatic fashion, 'If you're so perfect, why don't you do it on your own! I don't care if Merlin himself would be your partner--I'd rather work with anyone but you!' Of course, the effect was rather marred by the fact that he'd put his hand right in the dish of thecklepods, and they'd let out the loudest sound of flatulence imaginable."

Blaise laughed heartily. "Snape took fifty points! It was worth every single one, I say."

Harry slapped a palm to his forehead, embarrassed, while the rest of them chortled away. "Hey, I was mad. I didn't notice!"

"Oh sweetheart," Draco chuckled, wrapping both arms around Harry. "I always did drive you a little mad, didn't I?"

"It's only gotten worse over time," Harry replied wryly, but his eyes were soft.

ooooooooooo

Later that night, after the Ministry's annual end-of-war anniversary party was over and done, Harry held a sleeping Draco, close as he could. He petted the fine, silken hair slowly, relishing its petal-softness. A year ago, he was doing almost the exact same thing--lying awake with Draco in his arms, stroking Draco's hair. Then, he'd stayed awake thinking that quiet infidelity was not too great a price for indulging his love. Over the next many months, Draco had worked hard as Harry did for the Aurors--harder, really--at proving himself. Not that Harry ever demanded proof, of anything.

Draco had prevailed, in the end, and now Harry was unquantifiably, truly, happy. Yes, he'd been awarded an unprecedented promotion, based solely on merit--but Draco's was the real triumph. Oh, there'd been moments of doubt--like when Harry had tried to resign his position, and Draco hadn't let him. Harry had feared, briefly, that Draco liked the time to himself, away from Harry--but Draco had put that concern to rest with soft-spoken reassurances.

Then there'd been the first few trips away. Leaving had been painful enough, but coming back had been excruciating. Draco was waiting at home, every time, and Harry was afraid to look at him, lest the question in his mind show in his face. Comforting caresses, hidden love letters, and whispered words had banished this fear too, eventually. The reminder was always the same. No one but you, Draco promised Harry--every day.

Harry's hand stilled on the pool of platinum. Draco had kept those promises. The green eyes slid shut. Today had been such a perfect day. Harry's chest settled into a deeper rhythm, and he drifted to sleep, thinking of all the perfect days that awaited.


End file.
